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by Niullum



Series: Short Fics! [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Ficlet, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hurt Tim Drake, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Jack Drake is dead, Sad with a Happy Ending, Tim Drake Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-15
Updated: 2020-08-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:00:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25918459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Niullum/pseuds/Niullum
Summary: Tim hated going home.
Relationships: Tim Drake & Bruce Wayne
Series: Short Fics! [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1931164
Comments: 16
Kudos: 164





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**Author's Note:**

> Hi, welcome! Hope you like this :)  
> 16/08/2020: This was initially posted under anon but after thinking about it, I've decided to let the story be attached to my username and I'm sorry in advance for the confusion. Posting gives me anxiety.

Tim hated going home. Every minute and second that passed increased the anxiety Tim had been hoping to get rid of. He dreaded walking past the enormous gate and overgrown lawn that led to the vacant house filled with empty rooms, broken dreams, and the lingering traces of his parents.

When he had to go, each step would be mechanical and detached. Tim would walk to the entrance surrounded by a small pile of unpaid bills and another warning letter from the CPS urging him to schedule a date. _Mr. Drake_ , it would read. _We understand the loss you’re going through but you_ -

Then Tim would step on them not once but _twice_ and open the door with his shaky hands. His pulse would quicken at the sight of the long-darkened hallway. The same hallway that was the reason Tim would wake up later in tears and spend the rest of the night scrubbing the tiles and the carpet with vinegar and bleach praying this time it would get rid of the stain.

As soon as he double-checked, there was no one lurking there, Tim would hold his breath and hurry to his room. But never, _ever_ turn the lights on because the last time Tim tried that he’d seen two bodies laying on the floor and-

Tim didn’t like his house. Whenever the self-hatred struck Tim would enter from any room as long as he avoided the long hallway that led to the kitchen and the first floor. All because of two medium red stains that no matter how hard Tim scrubbed remained there. They were a constant reminder of how hard he’d failed, breaking the promise that Tim had made. That he would keep his dear people safe.

Now the rest of his house looked like a war zone with rooms off-limit and closed under lock. Like the kitchen whose pristine sink always reminded him of Dana off-key singing or like the living room where the TV was still playing the news because Tim didn’t have the guts to turn it off.

Tim hated being alone. He hated waking up with the illusion that everything was okay and in any giving second Dana would enter his room with breakfast. _The grass is getting tall again_ , she would say while ruffling his hair. _I hope your dad calls the gardener soon_. Only to realize there would be no breakfast, no singing, no _nothing_ because Dana had been institutionalized and his father was resting, six feet under.

Then one morning Bruce Wayne came knocking on his door, days after Tim lost it all. Bruce was different. He didn’t yell at him for the house’s abandoned state. He didn’t comment on the deep overpowering smell of bleach or scold him for the overgrown grass. Bruce was quiet and listened with care whatever excuse Tim rambled next and gently comforted him when Tim burst in tears. Bruce helped Tim pack all his belongings into a neat-looking bag and gently usher him out of the house with an excuse.

_“Let’s go on a walk, shall we?”_

Living with the Wayne's was different. There were no unpaid bills decorating the entrance. No taunting red stains, overgrown lawn, long darkened hallways, and blood sprayed walls. Now Tim awakened up to morning pancakes, Damian stiff greetings before declaring another match of chess and Dick singing the latest pop song. And sometimes whenever the feelings of _grief_ and _sadness_ would hit him at the reminder of how many people he’d lost, Bruce would come by his side and hold him. Never yell or scold him, just _hold_ him with a gentle “ _I’m here Tim”_. Soft and careful words so unlike Jack it made Tim cried more. _Shh, shh, I’m here Tim_.

_I’m here._

Now, Tim enjoyed going home. He loved walking past the black gates, the short grass, and the long hallway filled with photos of the family that led to the kitchen where Bruce would hug him with a smile.

And say the three words that always warmed part of his now healing heart.

 _Welcome home, son_.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! 💕


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